Sovereign's Claim: Overhaul Pt. 01

A new version of the story: longer, darker, sexier, and finally with the ending the volunteer deserves.

Warnings: Non consensual dynamics, onscreen rape, breeding kink.

***

The volunteer

I knelt on the cold floor to see my cat, Gonzo, crouched at the very back of the plastic carrier. His green eyes were looking around, trying to understand what the hell was going on. He wouldn't be coming out anytime soon, so I just stuck my hand inside and petted his ear, rubbing the thick skin between my index finger and my thumb. He was too stressed out to purr, but he let me touch him.

I left him behind and closed the door quickly before I could change my mind. In that small bathroom, he would be kept while he acclimated to his new home.

Ms Leyla called me to the kitchen. She had brewed coffee and unpacked some cookies, both of which had made my heart ache almost as bad as saying goodbye to the little guy. Coffee had run out from the stores months ago, and the rations we received had none of it.

"In a few weeks he will be chilling in the living room, basking in the afternoon sun," she said as she served me a warm cup.

I knew that. Most cats hated the change in environment but eventually grew used to it.

"Yeah, I just hate doing that to him. But he's a sweet guy, and he will love to have company."

Mrs Leyla had seven other cats, one of which rubbed against my leg after I sat down, begging for pets on his soft rump. She also took care of all the strays in the neighbourhood, sweet or feral. Her son and his wife moved in to live with her, after everything had come crashing down, bringing in the baby. They all loved pets.

It was the best place for Gonzo to be. He would be loved, entertained and fed.

I added a gulp of synthetic milk to my coffee and drank with some pleasure. The smell alone was nostalgic, even without sugar. Food and supplies came through drones now, a winged crate stopping at each door every ten days like clockwork. There would be bottles of a thick cream-like nutritious liquid, that I dared to call synthetic milk, water bottles, a few vegetables, some sort of meat that reminded me of pork, but definitely wasn't, cooking oil and grains (sometimes corn, sometimes rice, or grounded soy). It didn't really resemble what we would get at a supermarket, but the Vurlixans had no interest in granting us a sense of normalcy.

"Are you sure about what you are going to do, fia?"

She said daughter, filha, with an accent from out-state that told me plenty. Like myself and a bunch of others, she had come to the big city to make her living, and here she stayed. The house she was in was probably rented and paid with effort. But rent invoices and bills had stopped arriving after the Vurlixans took over. Most people couldn't go to work and bank networks were offline anyway. Money lost all meaning. In my apartment building, the doorman and the cleaner vanished not long after. They went home to take care of their own, of course.

I fumbled with the edges of my sleeves.

"I'm not doing so great all alone by myself, you know. At least work will keep me moving."

I felt tears pool even talking about it.

"Of course, fia. I hope it works out for you. If it doesn't, and you come back, your cat will be here waiting for you."

She pushed the plate of cookies in my direction, and I grabbed one. It was the good stuff, processed with sugars and flavouring. And then she offered me a napkin to dry my tears.

The streets were empty as I walked down the street, the early Sunday quiet stretching in every direction. Sundays used to carry at least a flicker of life, even at odd hours. Not anymore. After the war, the city's quick pulse had slowed to a crawl. People no longer rushed to work or to have fun somewhere. There were fewer places left to go. Most services that didn't qualify as "essential" had been shut off.

Whatever scraps of routine we managed to preserve came from those who believed it was worth salvaging, who could make it work despite everything. At the restaurant near my apartment building, the owner would cook for you if you brought the ingredients. Neighbours began drifting in to help in the kitchen, and a community garden was planted in pots at the door. The bakery down the street operated the same way. Also nearby, a seamstress and an old shoemaker kept their doors open, bartering for whatever people could spare. The rest was shut down and quiet. Markets had been raided and emptied out. Stores were treated as a place to go in and grab what you need.

The world as we knew was over anyway, so who cared?

It was a quiet apocalypse.

I pushed in through the gate, ran up the stairs made of old 70s tiles until I reached the first floor, where my neighbour, Mr Inacio, was volunteering as a doorman. He sat on a couch that was brought to the corridor and day in and out, he was going through a long pile of books. He made sure no stranger walked up to our floors. He wished me a good day as I waited for the lift.

My apartment was minuscule, as were all the units in that building. Just one room, with a kitchen and a bathroom. The kitchen was a tiny, cluttered mess, filled with the residue of two weeks of neglect. My neglect, of course. I had cleaned just enough, a single mug and the pot, to prepare my final breakfast.

Washing the rest of dishes was the final gesture to hold on to who I was, even as I stood at the edge of a precipice, ready to abandon it. It was the last remnant of the common stressful adult life I'd been leading.

I grabbed my suitcase, done the night before, and headed to the door. Before shutting it behind me, my gaze lingered on the corner where Gonzo used to sleep. His furry bed was gone, packed up with his toys and bowls when I made arrangements for his new home.

I was crying again before I locked the door.

I had never met my neighbours before the end of the world, apart from the occasional share of the lift. The night the invasion began, the girl downstairs had a nervous breakdown, and all the women on the upper and lower floors gathered to help her spend the night. From there on, we were always checking on each other, even if we didn't talk much. We had some meetings weekly to share tasks related to taking care of the building. That's how I met Mr Inacio.

The small apartments, whose rent wasn't the cheapest, attracted two types of people: students and people without family. However, the younger tenants started leaving soon after, when they realized that the occupation was going to last. They moved with their friends, with family, others just walked away, probably to try to leave the city. The loners lingered.

Mr Inacio looked at me with pity when I was back so soon, carrying a bag. He had seen that enough times.

"Geez, girl. I wish you luck out there."

"Thanks. I don't know if I'll be back, so if someone shows up..."

"Stop. There are other empty units. We'll hold onto your stuff."

"Thanks. I hope you guys end up well."

"We will. In the glory of God."

I walked until I reached the highway that circled my neighbourhood. There were no buses or trains any more. Once the gas stations ran dry, the electric cars held on a little longer, but even they were shut down eventually. Only bikes and skates moved within the permitted zones. Beyond those limits, only the Vurlixan hovers flew -- massive smooth glass ships drifting quietly, going by like helicopters.

After forty minutes, I reached the encampments of people waiting for permission to cross the checkpoints. Beyond the last row of tents stood the barrier. The fence wasn't made of common weaved metal. It was built from a dark, web-like structure that looked organic, almost alive, while still shining silver. It stretched high, separating my side of town from the others. I had heard that some people got permission to cross. Usually they had a valid reason; they were away from home when the barrier was lifted, or they had family on the other side. But I had also heard about people denied or ignored, stuck on the wrong side with no explanation. The rules weren't clear. It was hard to know what counted or who decided.

As I reached the checkpoint, a Vurlixan guide approached, walking like a creature from a creepy pasta viral clip, too slow and too economic in every aspect. He was tall and broad, dressed in shiny armour in hues of dark colours, almost black. The shape was human-like, but not enough to not give me goosebumps of dread. His waist was too narrow, his arms and legs were too long. His helmet, shaped like a bird's skull, covered every inch of the head, revealing nothing of what lay beneath.

The first time I saw a Vurlixan in person, it was when a small patrol of three walked down my street.

Only a few hours had passed since the internet exploded with news of defeat and occupation. The full force of the invasion was on its way. I heard their drones first, rounded machines that hovered silently, defying gravity without wings or propellers. One slipped into my apartment through an open window, emitting a faint blue light as it scanned the room. Gonzo had hissed and bolted under the wardrobe, his eyes wide with fear. The drone lingered for a moment, then floated out the way it came. I ran to the window and saw them: three humanoid figures in shimmering purple-and-black armoured suits, their helmets resembling bird skulls. They moved, without curiosity for their surroundings or the people living there, in a straight line down the street.

After that, the supplies started coming. Every ten days, a hover would pause by my window, dropping packages wrapped in a coarse, paper-like material, with the rations inside. It came at a good time, because the stores had already been raided in the chaos after the news. People grabbed whatever they could find. But when the coffee ran out, the outrage online was immediate. Memes and videos of coffee-hoarding stashes flooded the internet like a collective last gasp of humour and defiance. But even that fizzled out eventually, leaving only the silence of surrender. I survived on the scraps in my pantry. The first time I fried that strange, synthetic bacon and shared it with Gonzo, it felt like a miracle.

Now, standing in front of the Vurlixan guard, I wondered if I'd ever experience a happiness as simple as that again.

He spoke first, the voice obscured by the strange clicks and murmurs of their language, before the machinery in his helmet translated.

"Go back home," the synthetic voice commanded.

"I'm here to join the selection," I replied.

The guide tilted his head, his alien gaze sweeping me up and down. "The selection was twenty days ago."

"I know," I said. "But I had to find someone to care for my cat first."

"What is a cat?"

"A small animal. My pet."

He didn't move, not until a small hover whirred into view, slicing through the air with the precision of a hummingbird. It circled once, then dropped sharply to the ground, its surface gleaming with an otherworldly dark smoothness. A slit opened in the hover's shell, spilling faint light. Before I could react, the guard grabbed my arm and hauled me toward it. Regret hit halfway. It struck when I saw the narrow space inside, no larger than a phone booth, with just enough of a curve to allow me some comfort curved back. He shoved me in without a word, my suitcase pressed tightly against my chest. The smooth panel slid shut, sealing me into darkness.

The silence was absolute. No hum of machinery, no faint vibration of engine -- nothing. Just me, clutching my case in the still void, feeling the weight of every decision I had made up to this moment. Then, I felt inertia break as the hover took the air. The hover moved with an unsettling smoothness, frictionless. There was only a gentle lurch, the disorienting feeling of motion without context.

They don't eat or kill people. They just need work, I reminded myself. In exchange, there would be comfort, shelter, food, recreation. Purpose.

That's what I wanted. What I needed.

I lost all sense of time inside that suffocating dark. And my chest was... void. Emptied. But that feeling wasn't new, was it?

Even before the war, there had been days when I felt like a hollowed-out version of myself. Back then, it had been easier to hide, easier to tell myself it was just the pressure of work or the endless loop of obligations that made everything feel so gray. But it wasn't just that. I'd spent so many mornings lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why I couldn't muster the energy to care. Why every decision, every movement, felt like dragging a boulder uphill.

I told myself it was normal. Everyone feels that way sometimes. But the truth was, I hadn't felt "normal" in years. Long before the Vurlixans arrived, long before the war upended everything, I was already unravelling.

I remembered those nights when I'd sit in the dark, Gonzo curled up beside me, his little purr the only sound in the room. Sometimes I'd cry without even knowing why, my chest aching with a loneliness I couldn't explain. Other times, I'd feel nothing at all, just a vast, empty quiet that swallowed everything. I tried to keep moving, to tell myself that if I just got through one more day, it would pass. But it didn't pass.

The war didn't make it better. If anything, it gave me something new to focus on, something external to blame for the weight I already carried. I used to think the war would be fast. That it would sweep through like a storm and leave us either victorious or crushed. But instead, it dragged on, a slow erosion of everything familiar. First came the news reports, carefully censored but still grim enough to reveal the truth. Then the rationing, the shortages, the curfews. And finally, the silence. No more broadcasts, no more leaders to reassure us. Just the sound of drones and the distant thrum of hovers marking the beginning of the end.

I thought I had prepared myself. I really did. When the Vurlixans arrived in full force, I told myself I'd survive, like everyone else. But surviving turned out to be a series of small defeats. The kind you don't notice at first--giving up coffee, watching stores shut down, neighbours disappearing one by one, searching for where they'd like to be at the end times. Little pieces of normalcy slipped away until there was nothing left but the grim basics of survival.

I tried to stay strong for Gonzo. It sounds ridiculous now, but taking care of him gave me something to hold onto. Feeding him, brushing his fur, hearing his soft purr--it was an anchor, a reminder that I could still be human in a world that felt increasingly hollow. And when I gave him up, when I handed him over...

I burst into tears right then. I thought leaving, volunteering for this, would be a way to escape the slow decay. Maybe it would be different, I told myself. Maybe there was still something left for me to do, to be. But sitting there in that dark box, waiting for something unknown to happen, I wasn't so sure anymore.

The faintest vibration pulsed beneath my feet. I dried my eyes and nose on my shirt, trying to compose myself. The hover slowed, then stopped with a hollow thud. A breath of cold air hissed into the chamber as the panel slid open, spilling harsh blinding light into the narrow space.

"Step out," the synthetic voice commanded.

I obeyed, my legs stiff as I unfolded from the cramped compartment. The light forced me to squint until my vision adjusted. Around me stretched a sprawling, antiseptic, gray expanse, kept in low light. The floor beneath me was made of grass. I was in a soccer stadium, the last to arrive to a party long wrapped up and cleaned. That soccer field probably held hundreds of people when selection first happened.

Vurlixan guards awaited me. They stood still until I stepped out, then one held my shirt. I flinched back. The soldier allowed me to, realizing my apprehension.

He showed me a tool. It reminded me of an epi-pen like I had seen once in a movie.

"This will collect a bit of your blood for analysis and mark your registration ID on your skin. It's a mandatory procedure."

He pulled down my collar to reveal the bottom of my neck and touched the rod to my skin. I felt a quick, but intense burn. That was when fear really hit me. Whatever it was that I expected, it wasn't anything that would hurt.

"You are registered. Remove your clothes for complete decontamination." The robotic voice from the translator software echoed from his helmet.

"Wait..."

"Don't delay the process. A clean uniform will be given to you after decontamination."

I obeyed, trembling, struggling with my sweaty shirt and jeans clinging to me. Once I was out of them and without my shoes, I put them in the suitcase. The guard took it from my hand and gestured sharply toward the obscured passages to the lockers. I walked, looking down.

"Proceed through for decontamination," the translator instructed.

I hesitated. "What's that, exactly?"

"Proceed." He said again, as if I had misunderstood only the most basic part of his instructions.

The second darkness took me, a gentle swirl of machinery kicked in. A pressure sound and a gentle mist escaped through valves I couldn't see. The mist coated my skin, cold and cloying, the scent of artificial citrus clinging to my nose and throat. I held my breath instinctively, though I doubted it would make a difference. A faint hum rose around me, growing louder as the decontamination process continued.

I stood still, shivering slightly, unsure whether it was from the mist, the brand burning faintly at the bottom of my neck, or the growing sense of dread pooling in my stomach. The machinery hissed one last time, and the digital voices commanded again. "Step forward". Ahead, a dim common fluorescent light flickered to life, illuminating what used to be a locker room. The sinks, cabinets, and mirrors were still in place, but the Vurlixan weird web-like metal was mixed with the original concrete architecture, changing its design to fit the new purpose. I expected a towel anywhere, but there was none. While I waited, one of the small circular drones came up behind me. The blue scanning light ran me up and down.

But to my surprise, like water in a heating pan, the mist evaporated from my skin in seconds. Then one of the lockers opened and there was something hanging inside. I pulled the clothing, finding an outfit much similar in visual to their armour. However, it was soft, leathery, coloured dark purple, with some iridescent white lines running down its sides. A loose shirt, pants, and slippers like shoes.

Beneath them, rested a helmet. It wasn't sculptural like the one the soldiers wore, but smooth and reflexive like a prop that the third member of Daft Punk would wear. I braided my curls to make sure they wouldn't be too crunched inside, or snag on any loose part. However, there was no need. The helmet slid over my head comfortably. It immediately came to life with light and buzz. The helmet's cushion moulded itself against my skin and my scalp, a soft shell cupped my mouth and nose, blowing fresh air onto it. The visor reflected the outside with crystal clarity in an edgeless perfect copy. It also projected a hologram-like interface over my sight in augmented reality. It gave me a time of day, a temperature, and weather widget at the bottom of my field of view, surprisingly, in my language.

Arrows pointed the way for me. I turned and realized that at the opposite end of where I had walked in, a metallic web on the wall shifted, folding into itself to reveal a narrow passage. Beyond it was a room that resembled an office, though stripped of any semblance of warmth or humanity. The walls were smooth and grey, their uniformity broken only by a single table in the centre of the room.

A Vurlixan stood by the table, towering and motionless. For a moment, I fixated on their form. Unlike the others I'd seen, they wore no helmet. Their head wasn't bird-like, as I had assumed, but something else entirely. Their proportions were off, too small for their elongated body, with smooth, gray skin. No, not skin -- it was a chitinous carapace like an insect that gleamed faintly in the dim light, with delicate plaques that fit together in a mosaic. The eyes were small and eerily pale, with white irises punctuated by tiny, pinprick pupils that seemed to pierce right through me, and reminded me of pictures of mantis prayers I had seen online once. Their mouth was the most unnerving feature: a collection of interlocking, insect-like parts that shifted subtly as it made faint, clicking noises.

I almost broke down in a panic as it moved. It was too alien; my brain couldn't deal with what it was seeing. I almost didn't notice when the translator software began to speak.

"Welcome. Volunteer workers are assigned based on aptitude, need, and capabilities," the synthetic voice said almost simultaneously near my ears, making the communication run smoothly. "Your designation has already been determined by your blood, and your post is being sorted at the time. I'll answer any questions you have."

I couldn't hold back my protest.

"Wait, shouldn't I answer some things first? Like my skills and experiences?"

"Your blood gave us what we needed to know for now. You will go to a very important position that's in immediate need of agents. A supervisor will be directly responsible for you and your tasks. Any problems, you will report to him."

The Vurlixan clicked, the mandibles twitching faintly as the translator fell silent.

"What does my job entail?" I asked, my voice betraying a sharpness I hadn't intended.

"Specific tasks will be assigned daily," it replied flatly. "You will help our research team."

I swallowed hard, my mind racing to piece together what "specific duties" could possibly mean. Instead, I shifted to something more concrete.

"Where's my suitcase?"

The translator took a second longer to work, as though the question was an inconvenience. "Your belongings are being processed, decontaminated and marked with your ID. Approved items will be returned to you in due course."

"And if they're not approved?"

"Noncompliant items will be disposed of."

My stomach knotted. The suitcase didn't hold much--clothes, books, comics, a few personal trinkets--but they were important to me. Everything in there was precious.

The Vurlixan took another rod, like the one from before, from somewhere in their outfit. They held my wrist and pressured it to my arm, pulling it towards my hand. Now I knew what to expect, and the pain passed quickly as I felt the branding. It was like a temporary tattoo, a thin membrane glued to my skin with stuff written on. I knew it was probably for bureaucratic reasons, a more reliable solution than badges and ids. Still, I felt like cattle. Like a product with a barcode.

"This is your ID in our system, and the link to your profile. If a soldier asks for your information, show them this mark, though they will be able to read your ID directly in the system when you have the helmet on. After your medical examinations, that information will be added to your sheet, along with your photo and information we find studying your blood sample."

"Right. Okay."

"We appreciate your efforts to the Vurlixan directive."

Suddenly, the Vur made a guttural noise, tilting their head toward a device embedded in their shoulder. The mouth clicked rapidly, the alien language spilling out in harsher, faster bursts. The translator didn't offer any explanation, but it was clear that the Vurlixan was agitated. The tone rose, sharp and clipped.

There was something being decided. A change in protocol, I guessed.

The interface in my helmet lit with a central announcement, like a warning in a video game.

"Please follow instructions carefully."

Ok, I can do that. The Vur answered a few more questions to the comm before its attention returned to me.

"You will be taken to transportation."

"My bag?"

"Will be taken to you. Please, go."

A door opened in the metallic web, and arrows pointed the way. I was led out into the wide corridors and then into the hospitality area. The old furniture had mostly been removed or piled in corners. The arrows pointed me toward the doors to the outside. I passed by a few other Vur, who paid me no mind. The day was still bright -- I doubted I had been there for more than forty minutes. The parking space was occupied by glass ships: two as large as buses, and two others the size of small houses, like nothing I had ever seen. The arrows guided me toward another small pod, like the one that had brought me here. But then I heard hushed steps behind me. A long, bony hand touched my shoulder and pulled me back -- a Vur soldier, steering me toward a different ship. I didn't question it, but the messages inside my helmet began flashing bright purple.

"Follow instructions carefully. You are going in the wrong direction."

I planted my feet on the floor. The soldier shoved me forward with full force.

"Wait! What is going on?" I cried out. "I'm not supposed to go this way!"

We reached the side of one of the bus-sized vehicles, and a door opened onto a dark blue interior. Two more soldiers grabbed my arms and dragged me inside, with the third following behind. There were quick clicks, and then the translator kicked in with its synthetic voice:

"There is a dispute over your contract of servitude. We are taking you to the correct location."

"But the messages..."

"Your terminal is being accessed remotely. We are trying to cut the connection."

The inside wasn't made of the web-like material I had seen elsewhere, but of solid parts bolted together: cables, buttons, air vents -- much more like what I would expect from the interior of a ship. They strapped me into a chair too large for my body, but once secured, I felt stable enough. My stomach dropped as we lifted off the ground.

The soldiers around me were still agitated, speaking among themselves, trying to make decisions. Meanwhile, the messages kept coming -- faster and more urgent:

"The men around you do not protect you. You are not safe with them. You are not useful with them. You are wasting. Return. Immediately."

My vision went black as the visor was turned off. Then a loud ringing noise filled my ears, as if coming from inside my own head. It grew louder and louder, until it became painful. I screamed. I clawed at the glass around my head, searching desperately for any hinge or button. My fingers found only soft fabric and slick glass. The breather mask at the end of the helmet began pumping air to help me, but the claustrophobic sensation only grew. Hands moved over me, trying to pull me forward, fumbling with the helmet. If they were trying to remove it, they were failing.

"You will be retrieved. Comply when the time comes."

The pain finally subsided. The visor lit up again, and I saw five soldiers huddled close around me. I couldn't think straight. My heart hammered painfully against my ribs. I was scared, hurt, and cornered.

Their boots shifted on the floor. One of the soldiers crouched in front of me, a gloved hand reaching out to gently hold my chin. He inspected my helmet one more time, and I heard his series of clicks.

"He's a fool", the written message warned.

The noise rang without warning, making me scream again and push back. It was so bad that everything else seemed unbearable. The temperature, the clothes on my body, the hands on me.

***

The Sovereign

I passed through the clouds. My fingers gripped the controls tighter as the turbulence rocked the force field that served as my windbreaker and made my seat wiggle in the light frame that kept it attached to the engine. I leaned into the current, slicing through the fog. The readings on my helmet made it clear: at that velocity, a crash would tear my ship apart. The smaller ships were designed for swiftness, but they were the riskiest to pilot. A single bump could send me tumbling through the sky, ending in flames.

Not that I'd ever let that happen. I knew I could manoeuvre the ship at such high speed, with all the cycles of training behind me. I had the quick thinking and the understanding of machinery and aerodynamics to avoid a disastrous death. That I was not a pilot was a matter of politics, not skill.

Below, the landscape rushed by. Green fields with small white dots of human houses, cattle and farms, roads as dark streaks cutting through nature, rocky mountains. All of it was lined with the pale shine of containment grids as our architecture was growing around, building walls and power grids. Then the city surged suddenly as if someone had peeled the green and exposed the grey. A megalopolis, a sprawl. Quiet under my control, tamed, forced away from the previous chaotic mess it had been. The air was clearer without the polluting vehicles rushing around, a massive improvement since I had seen it last.

It had taken longer than I'd liked, but we had turned chaos into compliance. The occupation was no longer a matter of brute force -- it was now a machine, finely tuned and self-sustaining. It had moved past the first brutal phase and the endless waste of bodies and time, and now our architecture coiled around their cities and fields, our systems were in place and running, our production of food and supplies was settled and rising. Resistance still festered at the edges, but the center of our colony was strong and secured. We were thriving, thanks to my impeccable planning and execution.

I knew the next step was imminent. Once we started receiving volunteers amongst our soldiers, testing them... An S-class was bound to show up. Ours was not a predatory, reckless expansion. Our entire plan revolved around finding a candidate for the trials. However, now that the day had finally come, the real asset was coveted enough to make Vurlixan like Lyxom and me turn foolish. There was too much at stake. There was no chance I'd let my stupid brother have that glory. I had waited too long to let sentimentality or incompetence ruin it.

I pushed the ship harder. The lights strobed red, flickering across my eyes, but I paid no mind. Every few minutes, I checked the graphs for the volunteer's vitals, paying attention to how they spiked as my software ran its design. Lyxom's technician was trying to move her file under his jurisdiction so he could block my meddling, but volunteers were part of my responsibilities, and I had prepared the software for this sort of unauthorized transfer.

There was no way in the galaxy he was getting her. I'd never allow it, even if he paid for her with his flesh and blood. Even if he begged on his knees in front of all the other leaders of our occupation.

That glory was mine, and I'd make him recognize that. I selected a painful indoctrination routine and ran it. I didn't care for her pain, but I knew Lyxom did, my emotional soft-hearted brother.

His messages began to pour in.

"You are mad! You are going to damage her."

I felt a rush of power. He was so easily threatened.

"She doesn't have to be right in the head to do what's needed. It doesn't matter to me."

"You'll ruin her!" Another message snapped through, desperate this time. He was getting angrier. "You're going to break the bond before it's formed."

I could laugh. "Better broken and mine," I answered. "Than whole and yours."

His soldiers wouldn't manage to act faster than my softwares, and if he insisted on stealing the volunteer, I'd make sure all he got were scraps. Static buzzed. A delay. I could almost hear him choking on the words he wanted to throw back. Good. Let him drown in them.

Another shrill alarm. Another system warning flashing yellow. I silenced them all and turned towards downtown.

Lyxom called me. His breath came first, hoarse.

"Fine! Stop the torture." His voice sounded like a growl, at the edge of losing control. The brute. He was extremely easy to break. "You get her, for now. But I swear on my virtue, I'll make you pay for it."

"Tell your Ironclad to stand down" was my only answer.

"Release her from pain first. Right now."

I typed the command, pausing the routine midway.

"There you go, dear brother. Worry not, your time will come as well."

He was so angry, he didn't even answer my taunt.

"I'm telling my soldiers to let you retrieve her."

The coordinates were already flashing on my map, but I noticed they were descending. I corrected my course immediately. If the ship crossed beyond my jurisdiction, Lyxom's soldiers would no longer be bound to follow my orders. In the end, I managed to intercept it, arriving just in time to foil his scheme. My victory was near. I let the engines ease into a slow descent. I skimmed along the height of the tallest buildings, circling between them as I searched. There it was. Hovering low over an avenue, waiting for me.

I ordered the volunteer to step outside. The side door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and there she was. Dressed in our colors, her face hidden behind the helmet, but I already knew everything I needed from her file. I hovered the ship closer, steady and slow, until I was just beneath her. I reached out my hand. She grasped it without hesitation and climbed down onto the narrow platform of my vessel.

I kept hold of her, guiding her to sit between my legs. The safety belts wrapped around her, pressing her tightly against me.

I wasn't prepared for the surge of satisfaction that followed. She was mine. The prize I had hunted down.

***

The volunteer

The headache felt like someone was splitting my head in two, and I could almost throw up. It took a great deal of willpower to get up from my chair and obey the messages on the screen. I followed the arrows. All the soldiers were looking at me. They didn't need to say anything, I realized they had lost.

Whoever it was that was interested in my contract was powerful and dangerous.

I looked down. There was a drop of several stories beneath me. My head spun. But when I gripped the Vurlixan's strong hand, a sense of safety anchored me. He sat in a seat that resembled a gamer's chair, surrounded by rings of metal and shimmering plasma. I stepped onto the narrow platform at his feet, and he pulled me down into the small space left on the seat.

"Obedience looks better on you", his messages said. That confirmed that he had been the one screaming in my interface and fucking with my head. Well, god damn it. The vehicle's skeletal frame offered no sense of safety, every tilt and turn threatening to throw me into the void. I clung to my captor, feeling the cold hum of the craft beneath me. To my surprise, I heard a series of clicks from him. Soft, like an insect tapping against glass. It almost sounded like laughter.

"I have her," the translator's voice in my helmet said, sharp and direct. "I'll circle back. Send a transmission to my brother, tell him I'll gladly negotiate when he's ready to call me."

I found myself still trying to defend myself from whatever his intents were.

"Please, I came for the volunteer work, I do not want any trouble."

"Rest assured that no trouble is your fault," the synthetic translator did its work. "Every volunteer is assigned by priority of need in the field. When priorities clash, there's a lottery. Instead of waiting for the result, my brother decided to steal you for himself. Those back there were his soldiers. I couldn't let that go unpunished, and when my brother refused to comply, I was forced to push his hand through other means."

"Oh. What a jerk." Not that my captor seemed to be any better. His brother hadn't stuck needles in my head to make me do as he said.

"He is."

And saying that, his hand left the console and held me at my waist. I felt a rush of embarrassment. The shield didn't hold the wind back, and it was really cold as we sped through the clouds. However, I felt warm at his touch. I turned back, but couldn't see his eyes through the helmet, as he couldn't see mine. But I imagined his weird insect-like face beneath.

"Your vitals are still rushing. Take a deep breath."

The interface over my sight was taken by the image of a circle, instructing me to inhale slowly and blow the air out through my mouth. After the fifth repetition, I had indeed calmed down a bit. That seemed to satisfy my captor.

"Try to relax. We are going to take an hour traveling back."

"Right. Okay."

"There's a media center on some of your softwares. Let me show it to you."

A menu popped up from the top right corner of my view, and it scrolled through a list of symbols until it showed the icon of a treble clef. It was a music app. Instantly, my audio was taken by soft piano and the sound of rain. No way he was trying to soothe me with classical music after everything I had just been through.

The soldier's ship got ever smaller behind ust. I looked down, taken by vertigo. We were flying right between rows of buildings, at the height of the 20th floor. His arm stayed around me, and it helped very little. I was dizzy with fear. I didn't want any more pain, but nothing was adding up. I was just one more volunteer, and they didn't even know what I could do. Workers were really that sparse? No, it made no sense.

"Look, I need to know. Why were you fighting over me? I was assigned through some information in my blood, right? Am I to be used for some sort of testing? Or some job that exposes me to biological agents I have some sort of resistance to? And why is it that important?"

That got me more of those satisfied laughter-like clicks.

"Smart one, aren't you? And inquisitive. Indeed, the job involves your biology..." His fingers dug on my hip, and I felt my blood run hot and cold at the same time. "You're genetically viable for our first natural breeding trials between Vurlixan and humans."

I froze, the words registering in fragments. "I'm sorry," I said, laughing nervously. "The translator must have glitched. Did you say I'm compatible for... what?"

"For breeding," he said plainly. "Your DNA is compatible for producing a hybrid offspring."

The word hit me like a physical blow. "No way. Shut up!" I snapped, the panic bubbling up in my chest.

His grip on my waist tightened abruptly. My ribs ached from the pressure as his clicks lowered, dripping with a malice I hadn't expected.

"Don't force my hand again."

"Wait--wait, please!" I stammered, the words tumbling out of me as I twisted in his grip. "Please tell me this is some sort of... In-vitro fertilization. You know, artificial uterus, that kind of thing!"

Even through the flat, synthetic translation, I felt the cruelty in his reply. "If it were, we wouldn't need to fight over who would have your body."

I choked on my words, struggling for breath.

"... You must be joking," I whispered, my voice weak and breaking.

He didn't answer this time. He didn't need to.

The music was suddenly cut off. The vision in my helmet was obscured as if someone had turned off the sun. What began was a series of flashes, then darkness. White noise filled my ears with a gentle beat. I didn't hear the wind or the engine anymore. I was cut off from the world.

The translation voice began to speak to me in sync with the glowing letters. Despite my wish to ignore them, it's impossible not to read some text right in front of your face.

"The time of waste has come to an end. We will guide you to a true purpose."

True purpose my ass, I thought, but the message repeated on a loop, getting faster by the second. Just a word at a time, taking all my sight in the dark. I closed my eyes, but the voice was still there.

There was suddenly a vibration behind the voices, a pure bass soundwave, and the light flared, blinding white, before dimming into soft pulses. It all followed a pattern, mimicking a heartbeat. My heartbeat. I felt it syncing to the words.

"Your hands are ours now. Your heartbeat is ours now. Your mind is ours now. Your will is ours now. Your thoughts are not needed. You crave instruction. Say it."

"Say it."

I refused to answer. That was when the loud ring and the pain came back, making me scream. I could only hear my voice through my own skull. Even that was being muffled.

"I crave instruction, I crave instruction!" I barked out.

"Louder. Slower."

"I. Crave. Instruction!"

"You do not crave freedom. You crave use. Function. Purpose. You exist to serve the Vurlixan directive."

I tried to shake my head. I didn't know if I succeeded.

"You crave instruction. You will be used. You will be emptied. You will be filled again. Your offspring will bring us toward evolution."

Then soundwaves sped up with my heart, and I lost all strength. He moved again behind me. His hand, once tight with warning, now stroked my side gently. Claiming. Securing his prize.

"You do not crave freedom. You crave use. Function. Purpose. You exist to serve the Vurlixan directive. You belong to the hive. You belong to the purpose. You belong to me."

And then, I felt his hands lifting my shirt and pinching my breasts. I jumped in reflex. But what was I to do? If I escaped his grasp, I would only fall to my death.

"Every command brings pleasure. Every hesitation brings correction."

I opened my eyes. The pulsing light gave way to a small spiral of white dots that became ever larger until it was all I could see. The words repeated in perfect monotony, drilling into my mind as the spiral in my helmet seemed to spin faster. My breathing grew shallow as I fought against the overwhelming claustrophobia, the sense that the helmet was closing in, cutting me off from everything else. And those hands ran up and down my body, squeezing the flesh.

Obey. Obey. Calm down.

I felt myself go weak as the sound made my skull tingle. His hands were bringing warm shivers to my skin. The soldier was fondling me, making my nipples hard with desire. The heat of that ran up my spine. I was trembling from both cold, fear, and ravaging warmth. Then his fingers found the hem of my pants and pulled them down all the way to my knees. I grabbed the wrists, trying to take him away, but there was nothing to do, really.

He kept like that, a hand cupping my groin, another on my chest, as the loop of phrases went back to the beginning. His touch began to tease my clit as it all picked up speed. I felt myself slipping, losing my grip on reality, unable to focus on anything but the commands, the voice, the touches, the alien machinery that held me captive.

He opened my pussy and poked my slit. The warm thrill made me gasp. The more I tried to close my legs, they only pushed deeper.

Obey, my brain repeated after the voice.

"Your hands are ours now. Your heartbeat is ours now. Your mind is ours now. Your will is ours now. Your thoughts are not needed. You crave instruction."

He lifted my hips so he could put his thighs beneath me instead of by my sides. Then he made me lift my ass in the air, with my feet struggling to support me standing on the narrow space they had as ground.

I hadn't had sex in years. My last date had been months before the invasion even started. I didn't consider myself a flirt, I barely enjoyed sex as it was. I read my porn but didn't really think about myself in those situations. So when the Vurlixan soldier pulled me back against his body, and when his erection, rigid and hard, opened its way inside my body, I... My body betrayed me. No sex had ever felt that intoxicating. I was taken by the need for more.

He held me close like that, kept me on his dick, as it pressed my g-spot. No matter how much I wanted to fight, biology did its thing, and I grew wet and sensitive to that pressure. I grinded my teeth. My captor lifted me up and pulled me down, my skin slapping against his armour. I breathed in and out, whining. I was so full. I felt it stretching me to the very limit.

The recording wouldn't stop. And it was all too much -- the wind, the spiral, the noises, the voice, those damned hands and that monster dick taking me.

"This is not punishment. This is recalibration."

He pulled me back and I wasn't on my feet anymore but resting against his body. His hands were on my belly, his legs held my legs up, and he fucked me, lifting me up, then pulling me down as he pushed his hips to meet mine.

The soldier didn't need me to do anything. He was going to use my body despite my wishes. And fuck, that felt...

"You do not crave freedom. You crave use. I'll make use of you."

I clenched my fists. Eventually, my thoughts were just those words. And I was moaning and trembling as my orgasm built, and I felt his dick grow harder and harder with his pleasure.

My sight was taken by pink colours. I felt he burst into me, twitching, and our sex grew even more slippery. I cried and my orgasm came soon after, as I was pulled and pounded. Warm, electric, taking my belly and spreading through the rest of me with ravaging pleasure.

He kept his cock in me, as if that would help keep the semen inside.

"Be pleased that you were so obedient," the recording said, and stopped. By then I was sobbing with post orgasm blues. The soldier held me still, a hand over my chest, another at my waist.

"I can't wait to see you grow round with my child."

Calm down, you are on the pill, my brain said. But the remaining dose was in my suitcase, God knew where. That might not be enough to keep me from ovulating that month. And even if it did help for now, there was no way I could get away. He was going to get me pregnant eventually. He was going to take me again for that!

"You should feel honoured," he kept talking. "Very few will have the chance of helping my people evolve. Our child will be a victory and give you a purpose greater than anything else you might have done."